What She Needs - Lacey Alexander [117]
Just then, a hand touched her elbow and she looked up to find Brent, and—oh my—talk about debonair. She wouldn’t have believed he could make the showy men’s fashions of the mid-1600s look so . . . masculine. The dark fabric of his short doublet fell open across his chest to reveal the high-collared linen shirt beneath, and his breeches—tucked into leather boots—were fitted enough to hint at the bulge between his thighs. The small gray mask he wore did little to hide his identity, at least from her. “Lord Sexingham, I presume,” she said with just a hint of playfulness, amused by the silly name.
His eyes returned the emotion. “I am delighted you could come to my little soiree this evening, Lady Jenna.”
“Ah, so my mask does not hide me any better than yours does you, I see.”
He gave his head a dashing tilt. “I would know your beauty anywhere, my lady.”
To her surprise, Jenna felt a blush color her cheeks, and turned away, both utterly smitten and embarrassed by it.
“I trust,” he went on, “that you will find this a most pleasurable gathering.”
“As do I,” she replied, and even as she spoke, she realized that, already, the mood of the room was beginning to change slightly, feeling a bit more . . . tawdry than she’d noticed upon first walking in. On a divan across the room, a woman sat perched on a man’s lap, kissing him as he fondled her breast through her dress. And the quartet had begun a new piece of music that somehow felt more sensual as well.
“Come—have some wine,” Brent said, taking her hand to lead her through the mingling crowd. A moment later, she was sipping on a sweet chardonnay that went down easily. And suddenly, she had the odd feeling she should drink enough to get relaxed. She wanted very much to be a part of what took place here tonight, whatever that might be—and like earlier today, she began to suspect something extreme.
As she drank more wine, she spotted another couple—two girls—beginning to playfully touch one another, putting their arms around each other’s waists, starting to kiss. It looked stranger than usual, given the costumes, yet somehow all the more erotic for it.
“You should feel free to follow any whim that strikes you tonight, my lady. After all, we are all safe behind our masks,” Brent said with a wink.
She lifted her eyes to his with a grin, starting to feel the wine a bit. “What happens in 1650 stays in 1650?”
Brent let out a loud laugh and she liked having shaken him from his role—even if he plainly wasn’t as deeply in character as he’d been as a pirate. “Something like that, Lady Jenna. You have quite a keen wit,” he added.
“Thank you. And you look quite handsome in your late-Renaissance clothing, Lord Sexingham,” she heard herself say. Damn wine.
Just then, an attractive girl with blond hair, ample curves, and an extravagant beaded mask came scurrying up to Jenna and Brent. Funny how the mask made Jenna focus on the parts of the woman she could see: lush pink lips, seductive brown eyes, and plump, uplifted breasts that appeared ready to burst from the tight laced bodice of her lavender gown at any moment. Leaning into Brent, but with her gaze planted provocatively on Jenna, she said, “Pray, what have you here, Sexingham? I hope you won’t keep this tasty morsel to yourself all night.”
“The lady is most free to dally with whomever she chooses,” Brent replied to the slightly raucous but pretty girl.
“That is happy news indeed,” the lady said, her voice thick with lust—then she boldly reached out to slide her fingertip along the top edge of Jenna’s bodice, just above her nipples, all the way from one uplifted side to the other. “You have scrumptious tits, my lady,” the woman said, leaving the objects of her affection to tingle madly as she dashed gaily off into the crowd.
When Jenna lifted her eyes to Brent’s, his had turned heated